


Lying to the Camera

by ikuzonos



Category: Dangan Ronpa, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, NDRV3 Spoilers, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-23 21:59:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12517492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikuzonos/pseuds/ikuzonos
Summary: [Major Endgame NDRV3 Spoilers]He doesn’t fall back asleep, and instead stares at the shadows on his walls, watching them shrink into obscurity.-There are four survivors.





	Lying to the Camera

The lock clicks. From his bed, Saihara can hear the front door opening and the hurried, nervous footsteps of a person sneaking inside. The floorboards creak, until uncomfortable silence fills the apartment again.

He props himself up on one elbow, peering around the room in the darkness. He doesn’t have a clock in his room, but he also doesn’t really care to know the time. What’s the point in counting down the hours until you waste away?

The footsteps must be Harukawa's - she's lighter and quicker on her toes than Yumeno is - which doesn't surprise him in the least. For the past few nights, she's been sneaking out after Yumeno goes to bed, and not returning until fuck o’clock in the morning.

He doesn't know what she's up to, but doesn't press the issue with her. There has to be a reason as to why she's hiding it.

He trusts Harukawa, even if he's not entirely sure that she deserves it.

Saihara lies motionless under his blankets for a while longer, wishing he could be doing something meaningful, like contemplating the universe. Finally, he kicks the duvet off and gets up from his bed, shivering slightly.

He drapes the quilt over his shoulders as he leaves his room, creeping through their shared apartment. It’s completely dark, except for the patch of milky moonlight on the kitchen tile, streaming in from the uncurtained window above the sink.

Saihara steps out of the hallway and into the kitchen, his bare toes twitching against the floor. There’s a plastic shopping bag on the counter, and he gravitates towards it. He gently shifts the bag to reveal the contents, then stops.

The only things inside are a can of rat poison, and a bottle of champagne. Saihara’s hands go limp.

“Saihara? What are you doing up?”

He turns, the quilt swishing in the air, as he faces a confused and on edge Harukawa. He tries to amend, “I heard a noise, and I was checking to make sure that nothing happened.”

Harukawa examines him for a long moment, cardinal red eyes piercing into his skin. He wants to ask what she’s up to, but there’s no way she’ll tell him. It could be anything- she could be visiting big city clubs and drinking her liver away, she could be committing grand theft auto and then trading the stolen cars for drugs, she could be looking for a place to run away to. 

Or she could be walking to the all night corner store to buy rat poison and champagne.

Finally she says, “Well, try to be quieter. You woke both myself and Yumeno.”

She’s challenging him to call her out. Saihara swallows his morals and instead flashes an exhausted smile, “You got it. Good night, Harukawa-san.”

“Good night,” she echoes, her gaze boring into the back of his head as he creeps back towards his bedroom.

He doesn’t fall back asleep, and instead stares at the shadows on his walls, watching them shrink into obscurity.

-

The very next night, Harukawa sneaks out, taking the champagne bottle with her. Saihara watches from his doorway, digging his nails into the wooden trim.

-

Hot, salty broth burns the roof of his mouth. Saihara reaches for his glass of water and takes a large swig, before returning to his udon.

They're having takeout again because, as Yumeno put it, cooking isn't real. Their usual curry place was closed when Harukawa phoned them, leaving them with a small pool of acceptable options.

Yumeno swallows a large mouthful of noodles, takes a deep breath, then raises her hand. Saihara glances at Harukawa, before saying, “What is it?”

“Harumaki,” she starts, stirring her spoon around her bowl in uneven circles, “where do you keep going at night? I keep waking up… and finding that you're not there anymore.”

Harukawa tenses, her fingers tightening around a wooden chopstick. At lightning speed, her gaze flickers towards Saihara, before replying, “Nowhere important.”

“So you  _ have _ been leaving,” Saihara interjects, narrowing his eyes.

Harukawa's face twitches, “What of it? I'm just walking. I can never sleep properly at night anymore… And I like looking at the stars.”

Yumeno nods her head, returning to her udon, “O-Okay. Sorry for asking, then.”

“It's fine,” she responds softly, absently twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

Her explanation seems a little too perfect for Saihara’s liking, but the conversation is over now. So, he feigns innocence, and takes another stab at the too salty noodle soup.

-

Saihara stays up late, immersed in a foreign novel from the public library. He's so invested that he completely misses the sound of Harukawa escaping the apartment.

When she comes back, Saihara can only just resist opening his door to confront her. There's a second set of footsteps with her, heavy and hurried.

She must have taken Yumeno out with her, to wherever assassins go at night, and he leans back against the headboard and sighs.

He knows that the two of them are closer to each other than they are to him, and that's fine, really. Perhaps it's his fate to get left behind by everyone he ever cared about.

His book lies on the ground next to his bed, a receipt for socks marking his place. Saihara considers flicking on his lamp and continuing to read, but decides against it. No point in alerting the two of them that he's still awake.

Better that they don't know. Perhaps it will minimize any guilt that they might have.

-

Saihara dreams of faceless girls in orange classrooms and paper thin boys with checkered scarves.

-

He wakes with a headache. 

Saihara pulls his pillow over his head, groaning and rolling over. It's sunny this morning, and his room is hot despite that it can't be any later than ten in the morning.

After a few minutes of feeling sorry for himself, Saihara throws his blanket off and forces himself to get up.

He trudges to the bathroom, aching all over, and opens the medicine cabinet. His pills sit at the front, mocking him.

Saihara stares at the bottle, before snatching it and dumping three pills into his hand. They'll have to go refill their prescriptions soon, judging by the rattle his bottle makes when he shakes it.

With his free hand, he turns on the sink and makes a cup shape under the faucet, lifting his hand to his mouth. Then, he swallows all the pills at once. They stick to his throat and he almost throws them up, but with another gulp of water, he gets them down.

With that taken care of, he leaves the bathroom and heads for the kitchen, the possibility of hot coffee enticing him. 

When he arrives, he sees that the machine has already been turned on. Harukawa must have woken up before him, then. He produces a mug from the cupboard and sets it down on the counter, and waits. 

Once the coffee maker finishes, he fills his cup three quarters high, then replaces the pot. He tops it up with milk, finishing the carton in the fridge.

He's just about to get a spoon to stir his coffee, when a floorboard creaks behind him.

Saihara turns around to see Tsumugi Shirogane standing in his kitchen, and halts. She regards him with the same thousand yard stare, quivering in place.

It  _ must _ be a dream, his brain supplies rationally. This isn’t real.

His irrational arms, however, reach for the empty milk carton next to him, and hurls it at her head.

At the same moment, Harukawa bursts into the kitchen, her eyes wide.

“Saihara!” she snaps, placing her hands on Shirogane’s shoulders protectively, “What the fuck are you doing?!”

Saihara wheezes, “She… She should be dead… Why isn’t she dead!?”

“Don’t yell at her,” Harukawa replies icily. To Shirogane, she whispers, “I’m sorry… Let’s go somewhere else.”

Saihara glares daggers at the back of the ringleader’s head as Harukawa leads her towards the hallway. Then, hot tears slick his cheeks.

-

Ugly silence fills the living room. Saihara sits on the sofa, his hands carefully poised in his lap, while Yumeno sits next to him, huddled in a ball. Catty corner to them both is Shirogane, who is seated uncomfortably in an armchair.

He stares directly into their freshly lit - or rather, freshly turned on - fireplace, watching the gas flames waver.

The first person to speak is Harukawa, as she enters the room with a stern authority. Saihara isn't used to seeing her take charge of a situation. If anyone had been talking before she arrived, they would have gone silent.

“Okay, family meeting time,” Harukawa states plainly, standing with her back to the fireplace, “I'm sure that you all have several questions, and you can ask anything you'd like, within reason.”

Yumeno raises her hand and grunts, “What's going on? Isn't Shirogane dead?”

Shirogane tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, “W-Well… no.”

Harukawa says, “She survived, and Team  _ Dangan Ronpa _ kept her at their headquarters until the other night. She was just cleared to leave.”

“So I take it that’s where you’ve been sneaking out to?” Saihara whispers hoarsely.

Harukawa tenses, “Yes. You caught me.”

Shirogane adds, “She kept coming to see me during my recovery… It really helped me get through the whole thing.”

“Nyeh…” Himiko mumbles, “Okay. How’d we not all know, though? Like… that she lived, n’ all.”

Harukawa shrugs, “The team contacted me first, and I… abstained from informing you two, because I knew that it wouldn’t end well.”

Saihara crosses his arms, “I don’t like this.”

“Get used to it,” Harukawa responds, “Look, this is what our family is now. And you all know as well as I do that I don't have anything else to go back to. So we should make the most of what we still have left.”

Yumeno says, “I mean I don’t mind having her here… ‘s long as she’s okay with us being here, y’know?”

Shirogane’s lips twitch, unveiling what could be a smile, were it not for the stress lines all over her face.

Harukawa says, “So we've settled this, then. Shirogane stays. Any other comments or questions?”

She's much like a teacher. Saihara stares at her evenly, meeting her eyes and watching as they develop a glare.

Yumeno jumps in, “E-Eh, Shirogane? Why don't we go to our room, and I can help you with whatever? I'm low on MP… but I might have enough for a simple spell.”

“Oh, um, okay!” Shirogane responds, getting to her feet. 

The two girls leave the room, leaving Saihara to stand up and start walking away.

“Do you have something to say?” Harukawa asks, following him.

Saihara replies quietly, “Would you listen to me if I did?”

They stand on opposite sides of the narrow hallway, eyes locked. Harukawa says, “Of course I would.”

Saihara nods, then says, “I don't trust Shirogane, and I don't want her to stay here with us.”

Harukawa takes a deep breath, “I should have known you'd say that. Listen, Saihara. She may have been the ringleader, but she was a randomly chosen intern from a team of thousands. She's a victim too.”

“She killed Akamatsu-san!” Saihara cries, sticking his fingernails into the drywall.

Harukawa hisses, “Akamatsu wasn't yours to own or protect.”

Saihara breathes back, “And Momota-kun wasn't yours.”

Her fists turn white as she clenches then. Then, Harukawa punches the wall, narrowly missing his head, “Do you hate me, then? For killing Ouma and Momota? Answer me, Saihara.”

“O-Of course I don't-” Saihara barely gets out.

Harukawa's voice is dangerously low, “So if you don't hate me, then you can find it in your heart to treat Shirogane well. Do you understand?”

Saihara nods once. Harukawa scrutinizes him for a long moment, before pulling away and heading off to her bedroom.

He watches the dark oak of her door close, his throat growing tight.

-

If Saihara peers over Yumeno’s shoulder, he can glimpse the game on her phone. It appears to be about ghosts and phone lines, but he can’t pick out the details. He’s also tired, so tired, of dealing with dead people.

He glances at the unread book in his hands. Every so often, he turns the pages, but he hasn’t digested a word. For all he knows, he’s reading about the history of yarn.

From the hallway, Harukawa storms out and throws herself onto the armchair in the living room, rubbing her eyes. Her limbs then slump, as if she’s worn out.

“Are you okay?” Saihara asks, raising an eyebrow.

Harukawa groans, “Just… tired. It’s been a long few days. Don’t worry about me.”

Yumeno mumbles, “Well now I’m gonna worry about you even more, so there.”

Harukawa pauses for a moment, stricken. When she speaks again, her voice is soft, “T-Thank you.”

Yumeno says, “Nyeh… Are we playing the board game you found now?”

“In a minute or so,” Harukawa replies.

Saihara tenses, “Is Shirogane joining us?”

Harukawa nods, “Of course she will. She's just lying down for a little while.”

Saihara says, “I don't trust her.”

“We’re playing  _ Candyland _ , Saihara,” Harukawa replies with a roll of her eyes, “What's the worst that can happen?”

Saihara crosses his arms, “I still think that you're making the wrong choice to believe in her.”

Harukawa scoffs, “That's great. But I've made my decision, and I won't be swayed by what you have to say.”

Saihara crosses his arms and looks into the darkened fireplace.

“...You wish I was her, don’t you?” Harukawa’s voice is almost too calm.

She doesn’t have to say a name for him to know who she’s talking about, and Saihara doesn’t have to respond for her to know the answer.

“Thought so,” she mumbles, twisting a lock of her now shoulder length hair around her finger.

-

He tilts his plate towards the sink drain, watching as the uneaten fried rice falls. Yumeno cooked for the first time tonight, and everything was either undercooked, or burnt.

Saihara tried, but he wasn't able to choke down much more than a couple bites. Yumeno doesn't seem hurt, luckily. Just disappointed.

As they finish clearing the table, Harukawa says, “I'm going to run to the corner store and get us… something. I'll figure it out. Any of you want to come with me?”

Yumeno raises her hand, “I do! Nyeh… There's probably some really tasty treats being sold…”

Harukawa ruffles her hair, “Okay, great. We'll be back soon. You two take care.”

She finishes this with a pointed glare in Saihara's direction.

He waves at them until the door closes, leaving him alone in the apartment with Shirogane. His arm falls, and he turns his back.

She doesn't say anything, just scuttles to the sink to rinse the dishes. Her hair’s short too, short like Harukawa's is, but it still gets in her face.

Saihara reluctantly fills the dishwasher with the plates she cleans, careful not to accidentally touch her hand. It's already too much having to live with her- he doesn't think he could handle any physical contact.

With the two working together, the kitchen is cleaned up within a couple minutes. Saihara starts the dishwasher and then leans back against the kitchen island, taking a deep breath.

Harukawa and Yumeno should be back soon, he reasons. They've been gone about twenty minutes.

“I'm sorry,” Shirogane says quietly, her hands clasped and her head bowed.

Saihara scowls, “For what?”

Shirogane looks up, confusion dotting her face, “H-Huh? Do you really forgive me?”

He rolls his eyes, “Of course I don't. I wanted to know what you were trying to apologize for.”

“Oh…” she murmurs, “Well, everything, to be honest, but especially for what happened to Akamatsu-san. I know you're still bitter about that.”

Saihara clenches his fist, “Don't you dare say her name.”

Shirogane inhales, “W-Why not?”

He whips around, staring her down with unguarded fury, “Because you don't deserve to! You don't deserve any kindness, from  _ any _ of us! Not after what you did, you monster!”

She flinches, taking a step back, “S-Saihara-kun, I'm really sorry about-”

“I'm sure you think you are,” he growls, “But I don't believe you. And I never will. You  _ never  _ should have come here!”

“Please, I-”

“You shouldn't have survived,” Saihara screams, “You should have fucking  _ died  _ like the absolute  _ vermin _ that you are!”

The closest thing to him is an empty bottle of champagne. Much more deadly than a milk carton. Saihara snatches it and rushes forwards, ready to bring it down on her head.

Shirogane dodges the initial swing, and it instead makes contact with her shoulder, shattering upon impact.

Saihara freezes, the neck falling from his hands and cracking on the floor. A large shard of glass protrudes from her shoulder, and smaller fragments are stuck to her clothes. Her shaky fingers brush them to the ground, only for dark blood to soak her shirt. Shirogane clamps her hand over the wound, her skin turning white.

“S-S-Saihara?”

He spins around to see Yumeno standing in the open doorway, shellshocked. Her eyes are as round as discs, and her mouth hangs open a slight bit.

In the next second, Harukawa comes up behind her, face full of concern, “What’s going on?”

Shirogane pulls her bloodstained hand away and waves, “N-Nothing! Good to see that you’re back.”

Harukawa goes pale as a ghost and rushes into the kitchen, pushing past Yumeno. She takes Shirogane’s hand, examining it, then inhales sharply at the sight of her shoulder wound.

“What… How did…”

Shirogane mumbles, “I-It was an accident. It happens. I’ll be fine, Harukawa-san, really.”

Her eyes travel around the kitchen, then settles on Saihara who continues to stand a few feet away, the remains of the champagne bottle next to him on the floor. Harukawa’s features twist to an indescribable fury, her veins pulsing, and her breathing so loud he can hear it.

In one second, she’s rushing towards him, her fist balled. In the next, the floor is hard and his face aches. Then his vision goes dark.

-

His eyes open to the familiar darkness of his bedroom. Saihara rubs his stinging face, the phantom of Harukawa's punch lingering.

On his side table is a freshly filled glass of water. Beside it is a folded piece of paper, and Saihara only strains a little to reach it.

It's a note, in Yumeno’s messy scrawl.

_ Harukawa is really mad at you. Don't leave your room. _

Saihara crushes it in his hand and rolls over on top of his covers. His throat feels like rocks are lodged inside.

The door creaks, and Saihara sits up, turning around. Harukawa is standing in the doorway, her eyes narrowed.

So much for Yumeno’s warning.

“I didn't come to apologize,” she says plainly, “I have nothing to be sorry for.”

Saihara replies, “You knocked me unconscious.”

Harukawa crosses her arms, “And you sent Shirogane to the hospital. What the  _ hell _ were you thinking?”

Saihara takes a deep breath, “What I thought was right.”

She scowls, “Well, you were wrong. You're selfish, Saihara.”

“So are you,” Saihara spits, “You're keeping her here when you're the only one who can stand her, for some fucking reason!”

Harukawa says, “Yumeno likes her. You're the only one who can't even pretend to be nice to her. You sicken me.”

“Would you rather I lied?!” Saihara shouts, “Would you rather that I concealed my emotions for her sake?! Fuck that, and fuck you!”

Harukawa growls, “What  _ happened _ to you?!”

Saihara reaches for the glass of water next to him.

“If you throw that at me, I'll flay you alive,” Harukawa threatens, “Forget it. I can't stand you.”

Saihara snarls, “The feeling is mutual.”

She glares at him, then slams the door, leaving him alone again.

Saihara slumps against the headboard.

-

He weighs his options carefully in the darkness. The first few are too heavy, the next couple too light. After a few minutes, Saihara eventually settles on an option, taking a deep breath in hopes of calming his accelerated heartbeat.

The silver blade glints in the moonlight, reflecting the beams onto the cold tile floor. Satisfied, Saihara grips the knife’s hilt tight and trudges down the hallway, to the room at the end of the hall.

In any other situation, this would be the master bedroom, where Saihara’s parents slept. Not that he had parents- in his childhood, this would be his uncle’s room.

But his childhood is long gone, and now, the room holds three young women in two beds, and it makes his heart feel heavy in his throat.

Saihara pushes the door open soundlessly, creeping along the knobbled carpet on the tips of his toes. The only noise in the room comes from hushed snores, and the erratic thumping of his heart.

He stands to the side of the bed, staring down at Shirogane’s sleeping form. Her back is turned, instead facing Harukawa, who she is sharing the bed with. His palms don’t sweat, only gain a stronger grip on the knife. One, perfectly aligned stab will kill her near instantly, and that’s more than she deserves.

His breathing heightens, as he raises the knife with one hand. He hesitates, then starts moving the other arm up for control, when he feels cold fingers in his left hand, and the arm with the knife drops to his side.

Standing to his left, looking up at him with sad eyes, is Yumeno. His gaze flickers to the knife, then back to her.

“Sorry that you had to see this,” he mutters, his throat dry.

Yumeno says softly, “Please don’t kill her.”

Saihara sighs, and takes a moment to examine her. She’s still fast asleep, still blinded by the naivety that she’s safe in this house. He raises the knife again, then asks, “Why not?”

“Because you’ll make Harukawa very sad,” Yumeno responds, tugging on his fingers.

And Saihara stops. Nothing about his act being a crime, since they’re not on television, no insistence that he’s a better person than this.

Because he’ll make Harukawa sad. And he knows that if he goes through with killing Shirogane, then Harukawa will throttle him without thinking. Then she’ll get hauled off to prison, and Yumeno will be all by herself.

He can’t do that to Yumeno, he decides, and silently lowers the knife.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, “C’mon, Saihara. Let's go.”

With a tighter grip, Yumeno pulls on his arm and leads him out of the room. She takes him all the way into the kitchen, pries the knife away, and places it in the drawer.

Then, she leads him into his bedroom. Yumeno unfolds the quilt and helps him up, then tucks him in. 

“Go to sleep, Saihara,” she whispers, smiling gently, “We’re all in this together.”

Saihara nods to her, and she leaves him to the darkness of his room. 

The malice doesn't leave his heart.

-

Saihara wakes up in the morning to find Yumeno crying in the bathroom. 

Harukawa and Shirogane are gone.

-

Her sobs don’t cease as his knocks on the door get more frantic. She doesn’t seem to be responding to him no matter what she does.

Saihara twists the doorknob, but it scarcely moves. She must have locked it, then. He bangs his fist against the wood again.

“Yumeno-san, please. Please open the door,” he whispers hoarsely, sticking his nails in the slot between the door and the wall.

Yumeno’s reply is almost incomprehensible, “G-G-Go aw-away!”

Saihara responds, “If you don't open the door, I'll knock it down. And then we won't have a bathroom door. Do you want that?”

There's a long pause, then the shuffling of fabric on the other side. After a moment, the door opens just a crack to reveal Yumeno's tear stained face and bloodshot eyes.

Saihara opens the door wide enough to slip inside, and captures Yumeno in a tight hug. He presses her against his chest, cupping her hair, as she cries into his shirt.

“I-It's all my fault!” she bawls, “It's my fault that they're gone…”

Saihara rubs her back, “No, it's not. It could never be your fault.”

It's his fault, he knows. But he won't be able to comfort Yumeno by admitting that.

Instead, he rocks back and forth in an uneasy rhythm, humming a lullaby that he doesn't know the lyrics to.

She doesn't stop crying, but he didn't expect it to work.

-

“Let's go to the zoo,” Saihara says at breakfast. Though, breakfast isn't really the proper word for stale toast and spoiled coffee, but he can't think of an alternative.

Yumeno flops down on the table, “Why?”

Saihara responds, “Because neither of us leave the house enough. They have really cute red pandas at the zoo I'm thinking of. I think you'd really like it there!”

Yumeno rubs her eyes, “I don't wanna go anywhere ever again.”

“I know you miss her, Yumeno-san,” he says quietly, “But we can't just remain idle in our own lives, now can we?”

Yumeno groans, “Nyeh. Fine. But I don't have the MP for a disguise spell, so if we get caught, it's on you.”

Saihara nods, the remains of what could be a smile forming on his face.

-

They take the train, because there isn't really a better way to get around.

Yumeno sits on his left, her hair tied in small pigtails, and looks almost unrecognizable, if he didn't know who she was. 

His own hat would be a dead giveaway, so he sticks to the cover of a tan baseball cap. It's not perfect, but they don't get mobbed, so it must be working at least a little bit.

The walk from the train station to the zoo itself doesn't take long, but Yumeno still drags her feet. Saihara eventually has to take her by the arm and lead her across the street, lest she end up hit by one of the many cars bustling up and down the road.

They can still be normal people, Saihara thinks. It’ll take effort, and in Yumeno’s case, a pair of plastic glasses with a fake mustache, but they’ll find some kind of place in the world.

The zoo itself is a plethora of exhibits. For brief moments, traces of a smile will flicker onto Yumeno’s face, before quiet disinterest returns. Even the ridiculously adorable red pandas can’t keep her pleased for more than half a second.

Lunch is spent in near silence, as they share a ‘Bopper Jr. Meal’ and try not to think about how the clown on the cardboard cup holding their fries looks too much like Ouma.

After the greasy disappointment, Saihara takes Yumeno out to the hedge garden. If actual animals won’t do anything for her, then perhaps cut foliage in the shape can bring up her mood.

Unfortunately, she keeps the same, dull expression that she’s had all day. By their third loop through the hedge maze, Saihara slumps his shoulders and glances at his watch.

“Do you want to go home?” he asks, gently tugging on Yumeno’s sleeve.

She nods, leaning against his side. Her eyes are only half open, and her pale face is edging into the territory of green. Saihara wraps his arm around her and leads her out of the park, back to the station.

On the ride home, she falls asleep on his shoulder, the helium balloon that a half-dead looking employee tied to her wrist during their lunch smacking Saihara in the head with every jolt of the car.

-

Saihara awakens to a blistering headache and the cold kitchen tile on his face. He slowly sits up, rubbing his temples, as his vision swims around him. Wearily, he reaches for the marble counter above and pulls himself to his feet.

Sitting on the counter is an empty bottle of wine, and a knocked over glass. It doesn’t take any deductive skills to put together what happened the night before.

With a sigh, Saihara picks up the glass and places it in the sink. The bottle he’ll put with the recycling later, once he has the energy to wash it out. He turns around, wondering if they have aspirin and alka-seltzer in the medicine cabinet, when he sees Yumeno sprawled out over the top of the couch like a cat. 

He stumbles over to her, ignoring how his vision flashes, and places his hand on her forehead. A cold, clammy sweat has formed on her skin. Saihara shifts her into his arms and carries her down the hall to her bedroom, laying her down in the twin sized bed next to the window.

He hopes that he didn’t let her drink too.

Saihara’s stomach lurches. He dashes out of the room and into their worn bathroom, reaching the toilet exactly one moment before he was unable to hold in the vomit. It feels like fire coming up.

His mouth tastes like something died in it. He stumbles to the sink and puts his head under the faucet, letting lukewarm water spill into his mouth.

Once he regains some kind of sense, he flushes the toilet, cleans his hands, and leaves the bathroom. He doesn’t remember anything that happened last night.

Saihara enters his room in search of his phone, and luckily discovers it on his bedside table, unharmed. He sifts through it, nervously. There aren’t any outgoing calls or texts from the previous night, which quells his shaky hands.

He loads his email account, not expecting anything besides spam messages begging him to sign their petitions, only to freeze in place at the sight of the singular email he  _ does _ get.

**From:** <no.reply@tdr.com>

**To:** shara@tdr.com,  3 others

**Subject:** Funeral Arrangements

Saihara has to take a moment to catch his breath. His finger hovers above the screen, afraid to tap on it. He has a vague idea of what will be written, and he doesn’t want to see it.

He opens the email.

_ Greetings, _

_ The funerals for the deceased contestants of Dangan Ronpa’s fifty-third season will be held on Sunday the 19th at 3pm. A car will be sent to your current places of residence so that we may bring you to the cemetery. _

_ We at Team Dangan Ronpa hope to see you all there! _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Sonia Nevermind, Team Dangan Ronpa CEO. _

Saihara’s phone slips from his hands, landing on his quilt. For a moment, he can’t really think at all.

Then, from down the hall, he hears Yumeno leaping from her bed and running. Saihara quickly makes his way to her and finds her bent over the toilet. He winces and gathers her hair in his hands, holding it back from her face.

When she finishes, Yumeno sits up blearily and wipes her mouth on her wrist. She mumbles, “What… nyeh… happened?”

Saihara admits, “I don’t know. I can’t remember anything from last night. Are you okay, Yumeno-san?”

Yumeno shrugs, “Mmm… Better? I’m kinda hungry now, though.”

“I’ll make some breakfast,” he says, helping her to her feet.

Together, they walk to the kitchen. Saihara takes a pan out of the cupboard and sets it on the stove, then delves into the fridge for eggs. It won’t be much, but it will be enough. They probably shouldn’t have anything too difficult on their stomachs, either.

Yumeno lets out a gasp as he cracks the eggs into the pan, “S-Saihara!”

“What?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder.

She says, “I… I got an email from  _ them.  _ Are they really gonna hold funerals for everyone?

Saihara shudders, “Yeah, I saw that. I don’t know what to think about it.”

“S-Should we go?” Yumeno asks rocking back and forth on her chair.

He shrugs and looks back at the pan of eggs, poking them with his spatula. Saihara says quietly, “I don’t know. Do you want to?”

Yumeno admits, “Kinda… I’d… I’d like closure.”

Saihara replies, “I see. Then we should. I’ll mark it down on our calendar.”

Under her breath, she murmurs, “And maybe Harukawa will be there.”

Saihara squishes the eggs.

-

On the day of the funerals, they stand side by side at the vanity in Saihara’s room, doing their hair and makeup. He has only a plain black tuxedo, while Yumeno has a dark red dress that she picked up from a thrift store.

The Team  _ Dangan Ronpa _ provided car will be there in fifteen minutes. For some reason, he’s not nervous anymore. 

Yumeno finishes up her eyeliner and smooths out her dress. Even with the makeup, she looks dead inside, from her pale skin to her hollow eyes.

Saihara doesn’t look any better, but he’s long since surpassed trying to feel alive.

“I miss Harukawa,” Yumeno whimpers, playing with the black lace around the hem of the skirt. 

Saihara tightens the tie around his neck, glaring at his reflection, “I don’t.”

He steps out of his bedroom, and picks up the three bouquets he bought the previous evening. Yumeno stumbles out a minute or two later, two bouquets of her own in her arms.

Saihara nods to her. Yumeno doesn’t meet his eyes, and instead marches for the door, opening it with her elbow. He follows her out, down the seven flights of stairs to the lobby, to the long black car that sits just outside the apartment.

The drive is spent in near silence. Only the radio makes noise- even the driver deciding to avoid making any commentary. Saihara keeps his gaze focused out the window, watching the streets zip by. He doesn’t look at Yumeno, and she doesn’t look at him. And maybe it’s better like this.

The car slows to a halt outside of the local cemetery, the tires screeching as they drive over fragments of gravel. Saihara opens the door, then gathers his bouquets and steps out. Yumeno slides out after him, stumbling as she does so.

Saihara takes his first steps into the graveyard, the slightly damp grass squishing below the toe of his boot. He hesitates a moment, then continues to walk, and hopes that he’s walking with conviction, not fear.

-

According to the gossip he can pick from from the people around him, the funerals will be held in the order that the fallen students were revealed in the first promotional video.

Which means that Akamatsu’s is first. Saihara resists the urge to vomit.

He sits next to Yumeno on a plastic chair, listening to the sutra being chanted, and he doesn’t cry, because he’s already cried for her so much that he only feels numb.

When the ceremony finishes, he stumbles up to her coffin and lays down the first bouquet. It’s a closed casket affair, which he’s grateful for. His resolve might have crumbled if he had to look at her corpse.

Saihara stares at the thick wood, then whispers, “Thank you. I miss you.”

He has so many other thoughts he wants to share with her, but his voice ends up dying before he can say them. It’s better that way, because then her ghost isn’t victim to his mindless rambling.

She didn’t love him, no matter what he tells himself so that he can sleep at night.

Saihara quickly gets to his feet, feeling light headed. He’s prepared to leave the small courtyard so that he can head on to the next ceremony, when he spots a tall, blonde man cleaning his glasses.

Her father, then.

He approaches the man with unease growing in his stomach, “A-Akamatsu-san?” he begins, hoping his voice doesn’t crack.

The man turns to him, raising an eyebrow, “Yes? What do you want?”

“My name is Saihara,” he begins, “and I knew your daughter. I… I came to offer my condolences. She was a lovely young woman.”

Akamatsu’s father regards him for a long moment, then says coldly, “It should have been you.”

He leaves Saihara in a stunned silence, his heartbeat creeping up his throat into his mouth.

-

Amami’s funeral goes by in a blur, and yet the minute details of the thousands of people attending stick in Saihara’s mind. The headache stays with him into Ouma’s wake, where he has to bite on his lip to keep himself from screaming.

After the priest bows and steps away from the coffin, Saihara almost runs up and leans the second bouquet against it. It slumps slightly, so he takes a moment to adjust it.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t hate you,” Saihara murmurs, “I don’t think I ever did.”

And that’s all he can do. Saihara rubs his eyes with his spare arm and doesn’t cry, but just barely manages to keep himself together.

After Ouma is Iruma, who’s funeral is attended by exactly one other person- a boy who looks to be related to her. Saihara leaves shortly after it finishes, but lingers outside the gated off area for Yumeno, who takes a moment to bow to the closed casket.

In Team  _ Dangan Ronpa’s  _ eyes, Kiibo doesn’t deserve a funeral, so the next casket they properly mourn contains Gonta. Yumeno cries more than Saihara expected her to, and he ends up rubbing her back to calm her hiccoughs.

Both of them take a moment to bow to their fallen friend, before moving on.

They skip Shinguuji and move right to Chabashira’s funeral grounds, sitting and waiting alone for a long time. Saihara finds himself unwillingly shedding tears as Yumeno bawls next to him, gripping onto his arm and screaming.

At the end, Yumeno pulls him up to her casket, and they place one of the bouquets that she brought up to the wood varnish together.

Toujou is next, and he thinks that he hears Yumeno call her ‘mom’ as they pay their final respects to the de facto prime minister who was willing to leave them for dead.

Had he been alive, he would have been shocked, because Hoshi’s wake is filled to the brim with people, so much that Saihara and Yumeno can’t reach his coffin at the end of the ceremony, because of the flood of others who get there first.

Saihara breaks at Momota, who is next. Yumeno ends up being the one to unconsciously rub  _ his _ back as he cries into his hands. He can’t even bring himself to say anything when he hands his best friend’s coffin the final bouquet, lest he become inconsolable. 

The last stop is Angie. Yumeno seems to have most dried her tear ducts, only shedding a few for her lost friend. Her funeral is attended by the largest family that Saihara’s seen, capping around thirty-five people.

He waits for her as she gently sets down her other bouquet. She runs back up to him, panting slightly, but seems to be in better spirits than when they left the apartment. He’s about to ask if she wants to go back home now, when her eyes suddenly widen.

“H-Harumaki!” Yumeno shouts, rushing away from Saihara. He follows after her, stopping just short of colliding with the two of them.

Harukawa seems to be as surprised as he is, looking down at the girl hugging her with a confused expression. She recovers after a moment and says, “It’s really good to see you.”

“I missed you,” Yumeno mumbles.

Saihara takes a few steps back, not wanting to interfere with their reunion. Plus, he’s decently certain that Harukawa will threaten to kill him should she make eye contact with him.

It’s what he deserves, though.

“It's so heartwarming… Much like two lovers reuniting after a terrible war!”

Saihara jumps a foot in the air and whips around, “How long have you been standing there?”

Shirogane pushes up her glasses, “Long enough. Hi there, Saihara-kun.”

Hip lip curls, “What the fuck do you want?”

“No need to be so hostile,” she remarks, “I only wanted to say hello. Our friends are off somewhere else, so I thought it be polite-”

Saihara scowls at her and she cuts herself off. He says, “I don't care. I still hate you.”

Shirogane lowers her gaze, “I know… And I understand that you can't forgive me for what I've done. I wouldn't, in your place.”

Saihara repeats, “What do you want?!”

“Hold out your hand,” she responds.

He complies before he asks, “Why?”

Shirogane presses something cold into his palm. He quickly glances down at it, and goes stiff. It's a pocketknife.

“You can finish what you started in the bedroom,” she says flatly, a dull gleam in her eyes.

Saihara flinches, “You were awake?”

Shirogane replies, “Of course I was. I couldn't sleep after the previous night, when you tried to bash my head in. So I had to listen to Yumeno-san talk you down from killing me. That's why we left.”

Saihara falls silent, unable to form a proper response.

“So why don't you finish the job now?” Shirogane asks, “There's nobody here to stop you.”

Saihara hisses, “I… I can't.”

Shirogane smiles, “Of course. You never were good at killing in front of an audience.”

“It wouldn't be fair to Yumeno-san,” he spits, “That's the only thing stopping me from slashing your jugular right this instant.”

Shirogane adjusts her glasses, “Ah. How noble of you.”

“Hardly,” Saihara responds, throwing the knife to the ground. He doesn’t even look at her as he stomps away, a nasty headache building up in the back of his head.

He passes by Yumeno, who is still in deep conversation with Harukawa, and says, “We need to leave. Come on, Yumeno-san.”

She turns her head, concern flashing in her eyes, “U-Uh, okay. I’ll talk to you soon, Harumaki!”

If Harukawa says anything, Saihara doesn’t hear it. Not that he cares anymore. And in all truth, he doubts that she has thought of him once since she left his and Yumeno’s apartment.

Saihara throws open the door to the car and slips inside. As Yumeno approaches, he scoots to the left seat, and buckles himself in. 

On the drive back, he stares through the tinted windows, and doesn’t look at her, if only because she won’t look at him.

-

It’s a quiet afternoon in their apartment. Yumeno’s eyes are glued to her phone, either typing a message or tapping her screen to a rhythm he can’t follow. Saihara doesn’t have anything to do, except lie back on the sofa and live with his thoughts.

“You must hate her,” he says, out of the blue.

Yumeno looks up from her game, “Uh, who?”

Saihara elaborates, “Shirogane. For taking Harukawa-san away from you.”

Yumeno shrugs, “Not really. I mean, she made Harukawa happy. She even smiled around her. So… how could I hate that? Her happiness is all I can ask for”

Saihara's shoulders slump, “I guess that makes sense.”

Yumeno uncomfortably looks back at her phone.

-

The lock clicks. From his bed, Saihara can hear the front door opening and the hurried, nervous footsteps of a person sneaking inside. The floorboards creak, until uncomfortable silence fills the apartment again.

Yumeno’s finally back from wherever she’s been sneaking off to. He almost doesn’t want to know what’s going on, because the last time someone did that, she ended up bringing a murderer back.

Saihara rolls over on his side, staring through the distorted prism the empty water glass on his nightstand provides. He doesn’t bother to get up and talk to her. There’s no point.

It’s been happening for a whole week, and it doesn't seem to be changing. It makes his stomach feel tight, but he can't do anything.

She hasn't come home with rat poison and champagne just yet, so maybe there's a chance. He wouldn’t count on it, though.

The days pass the same way, quiet and strained, until he finally breaks their silence at dinner.

“Where do you keep going at night?”

Yumeno drops her spoon, “U-Uh.”

Saihara leans back against his chair, “You don't have to lie to me. I can take it.”

She gulps, “Just… I've been visiting Harukawa, is all. Didn't know if you'd like that, so I… nyeh.”

He nods, spinning his spoon around his soup mindlessly, “It’s not an issue. I was just worried about you, is all.”

Yumeno ducks her head, “Don’t do that.”

Saihara closes his fist, and doesn’t finish his dinner.

Their silence continues after this, until the morning where Saihara wakes up to find a crumpled sticky note on the kitchen counter in place of Yumeno herself.

-

In the mirror, there are moments when Saihara sees Death himself. A shadow in the corner of the bathroom, looming over the entire room. He spies him through half-lidded eyes, hovering and waiting.

Waiting.

Saihara’s skin is gaunt from lack of sleep. The bags under his eyes are the only colour on his face. He traces a finger around his cheekbones, looking for some form of life.

He sees the eerie glow of the lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, the dark scum in the corners of the linoleum floor, the half open shower curtain exposing the bone dry tub, and he sees absolutely nothing at all.

There is no Shuuichi Saihara, there never was. He’s only fabricated memories and fictional projection. A sack of scarred flesh that can’t keep friends.

Someone who deserves to die.

Perhaps that reasoning is why the newly opened bottle of sleeping pills is now half empty, and slipping from his clammy grip. Either the dose will be fatal, or he’ll just sleep for a very,  _ very _ long time.

He stumbles back to his bed, the pills heavy in his throat, and leaves reality before his head can even hit the pillow.

-

A few of the lights in the dining hall have gone out. Saihara stares at them, squinting carefully, then shakes his head. Sometimes other people’s lights burn out. He should know that better than a lot of people.

There’s only one other person in the room, and he’s sitting at the table, playing the knife game. Saihara heaves a sigh and settles down across the table from Kokichi Ouma.

At the sight of him, Ouma lights up and drops the knife, “My beloved Saihara-chan! It’s been forever since we last met!”

“It has, hasn’t it?” Saihara half mumbles, numbly reaching for his hat and feeling relieved to be able to tug it over his eye.

Ouma says, “You sure look awful! But I guess that’s your own fault, huh? Nishishi…”

Saihara asks, “What do you want? I… I don’t understand what you’re doing here.”

“Well, you’re dreaming!” Ouma says, speeding up the pace of the knife jabs, “So that’s why I’m here. Besides, is there a problem, Saihara-chan? I thought you missed me!”

Saihara says, “I do miss you, I just...”

Ouma pauses for a moment, regarding him. He twists the knife, causing sawdust to spread over the table.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Saihara finishes awkwardly.

Ouma shrugs, “Nobody ever  _ expects _ to see me. Where would be the fun in something like that? But Saihara-chan must be awful lonely if I’m the person he’s conjured up!”

Saihara flinches, “I’m… I’m not-”

“Not lonely?” Ouma asks, “But didn’t all your friends abandon you?”

Saihara hunches his shoulders, “It’s not like that, Ouma-kun.”

Ouma says, “Of course it’s not. You drove them away!”

Saihara recoils, “N… No! That’s not true. You’re lying-”

“The truth hurts, Saihara-chan,” he says plainly, “And remember, I’m not real! I’m just a figment of your imagination, a figurehead built from your subconscious!”

Saihara swallows the lump in his throat.

Ouma says gently, “You’ll never get rid of me, though.”

“Am I supposed to take comfort in that?” Saihara asks, before he can think through the sentence.

Ouma shrugs, “That’s up to you.”

Saihara looks Ouma up and down, trying to find some kind of sense to hang out. But Ouma is chaotic in the best way, and there’s nothing to understand, only appreciate.

And it’s the only closure that he’ll ever get.

“It’s okay, Saihara-chan!” Ouma giggles, spinning the knife around on the table, “Some people are meant to be alone, and you’re just one of them!”

Saihara folds his hands and watches Ouma drive the blade into the wood again.

-

White and blue waves crash against the rocks, causing little pebbles to fall into the sea. Saihara doesn’t bother with the water, despite the salty spray on his cheeks, and continues staring up at the stars.

The sky is clear this evening, and all the little lights line the fading blue like stitches on blankets. Each little twinkle is serene against the storm below.

Behind him, dirt crunches. Saihara looks over his shoulder to see Momota running down a thin path towards him, a huge smile on his face.

“Shuuichi, hey!” he shouts as he gets closer, “Shit, I was wondering where you got off to.”

Saihara says, “Ah, sorry. I didn't realize that I was worrying you.”

Momota grins, “Nah, you're all good! I'm just glad to see you. Are you planning on coming back to training?”

He shrugs, “I'm not sure… I'd like to, but I don't know if I can. And… I'd like to stay here and look at the stars, just a while longer.”

Momota says, “That's valid. But I hope you come back soon! I miss ya, bro.”

Saihara smiles, “I miss you too, Momota-kun.”

Momota ruffles Saihara’s hair, “Yeah, yeah, that's what they all say.”

“Can you stay longer?” Saihara asks.

Momota’s smile vanishes, “I want to, Shuuichi, you know I do. But I am just your imagination, remember?”

Saihara stares at Momota, taking in every inch of him. He seems so real in his athletic training clothes, beads of sweat on his forehead. But he's just another illusion, like every fake star in the sky above them.

“I'm sorry,” he says in response, his voice wavering.

Momota replies, “I'm not the person you owe that to.”

-

His eyes flicker open to his bedroom, and Saihara's tension eases. It's over. He moves slightly to sit up, then screeches at the sight of Kaede Akamatsu at the end of his bed.

“That's no way to greet a friend,” she says nonchalantly, “I've missed you.”

Saihara croaks, “Are you just my subconscious, like the other two were?”

She replies, “Am I the other two?”

He shakes his head, “I… No. You're not.”

She regards him with silence, as though she's waiting for him to speak first.

“Akamatsu-san,” he starts.

“Kaede,” she chides.

Saihara amends, “K-Kaede… Am I a bad person?”

Kaede says, “Well, that's a very complicated question, don't you think? What's your definition of a bad person?”

Saihara blinks, “Well, um, a bad person is… someone who hurts others.”

“I see,” Kaede says thoughtfully, “By that logic, do you think that I'm a bad person?”

“What?!” Saihara exclaims, “Of course not! Why would you say that?”

Kaede says, “Because I hurt you, didn't I? When I used the information you trusted me with for murder.”

Saihara says, “That wasn't you. You didn't kill him.”

“It may as well have been me,” she responds, twirling a strand of hair around her finger, “But for your sake, I'll revise. I hurt you when I used the information you trusted me with to attempt murder. And then I died.”

Saihara whispers, “I could never hate you… Not after everything you did for me.”

Kaede says, “What? Offered half hearted encouragement and caused a lifetime of trauma? I knew you for two days.”

“I know,” he murmurs, “I know.”

She reaches out and squeezes his hand, “I'm sorry if I sound harsh. But to answer your question… No, I don't think you're a bad person. You've just made some mistakes.”

“What do I do?” Saihara croaks.

Kaede says, “Well, I can't make your decisions for you. What do you want?”

Saihara says, “I… I don't know.”

“Then I can't really help you,” she says, tilting her head.

Saihara says, “I want Yumeno-san and Harukawa-san’s forgiveness, but they hate me.”

“What about Shirogane-san?” Kaede inquires.

Saihara tenses, “She killed you.”

“And?”

“And I hate her for it,” he says.

Kaede says, “I think I understand what you're saying. Let me ask you something, though. Is it really Shirogane-san that you hate?”

Saihara stares at her. Kaede, in the intimate darkness of his room, still has the same compassion that he fell in love with reflected in her amethyst eyes.

“No,” he admits, “It's me. I hate myself for not being able to save you, and for everything else. And I forced all that self-hatred into her.”

Kaede says, “That's what I thought.”

Saihara rubs his stinging eyes.

“Listen, I can't solve all your problems, there's only so many tricks ghosts have,” she says, “But… If you want them to forgive you, you have to be the one to seek them out.”

Saihara nods, “T-Thank you. I'll… Try my best. I swear.”

“That's what I like to hear,” Kaede says with a smile.

Saihara says, “D-Don't go just yet! Please, Aka… K-Kaede. You have no idea how much I've missed you.”

Kaede replies, “I'll stay a while longer, I promise. Lie down, okay?”

He complies, and she lies down next to him, the warmth of her skin lulling him into security. He stares into her eyes with a half-lidded gaze and whispers, “You never answered my first question. Are you real? Or is this all in my head?”

Kaede reaches for his hand, and squeezes it tight, “Well, of course this is in your head. Whether or not it's real is up to you.”

  
  


When Saihara wakes up, the other side of the bed is cold.

-

He triple checks his phone, squinting at the letters as the harsh sunlight makes the screen almost unreadable.

The address that Team  _ Dangan Ronpa  _ had been more than willing to provide had brought him here, to a small apartment building on the far side of town. He stares up at it for a moment, then pulls open the glass doors and enters the lobby. There isn't anyone inside there to question him, which lets him get to the elevator without incident, for better or for worse.

The ride up the elevator seems to last years. They're only on the fourth floor, compared to the seventh that he resides on, yet it feels like he's going six hundred floors up.

The apartment is at the end of the hallway, just before the large window that displays an empty lot. Saihara swallows and raises his fist to knock, when a sound from inside causes him to freeze.

It's laughter. Harukawa's laughter, to be precise. He blinks a few times, stunned. She was rarely happy enough to genuinely smile, let alone laugh.

Followed by that are giggles that must belong to Yumeno and Shirogane. Saihara takes a step back.

If he knocks on the door, he risks entering their lives again, risks ruining the happiness that they've built for each other.

He continues to stare, unsure of himself. Kaede told him that he had to take the first step, but he's beginning to doubt her for the first time in his life.

If he doesn't knock, he'll never see them again, and he’ll die alone. The only living people in the world who  _ might _ still care about him are on the other side of the sloppily painted slab of wood.

Saihara's heart pounds violently against his chest cavity, and his throat grows tight.

He raises his fist and knocks on the door.


End file.
